Rogue and Royal
by Strawwolf
Summary: Derriq Hale has been appointed as Princess Alysen's bodyguard. Unfortunately they don't get along. She doesn't want someone shadowing her everywhere and he despises everything to do with court life. They may dislike one another but they'll be forced to work together if they want to survive.


"I will thank you to take yourself from my presence immediately. You will not be needed tonight." She hissed as she drew herself up to her full height, her words clipped and cold. Staring daggers at him she stood unblinking, waiting for him to comply.

Hot anger flushed up his neck to his face. Derriq grit his teeth, forcing a smile to his face though what he most wished was to chastise her for idiocy. If ever she needed protection it would be this night and yet she chose stubbornness over safety.

"Very well. Your Grace."

He gave a stiff bow, never breaking eye contact before he whipped around and stalked off. There was little he could do against a direct order. At most he could watch from afar though it would likely be best to stay out of sight until the evening was over.

 _Foolish. Petty. Child!_

He steered around servants rushing about, carrying armfuls of fabric, candlesticks and baskets of food. One haggard woman nearly ran into him as she shuffled along, her head bent, cradling armfuls of colourful flowers, her fingers carefully cupped around the blossoms. He had to press himself against the wall to avoid her, watching the swarm of people shift and dodge around one another.

Derriq darted past everyone and headed to the nearest staircase. He wanted up and out. If **she** had no need of him, then could at least take a moment for himself. Hand on his sword he took the stairs two at a time spiralling up and up, passing torches guttering from a downdraft. When he finally reached the heavy oak door, he pulled back the iron bolt and stepped outside. A cold blast of wind hit him straight in the face. The air of the castle was always stale and damp but out here, out here he could breathe.

Stepping towards the edge of the parapet he looked out at the sky. The sun was sitting high and shadows were all but absent. On the grounds below the Steward was directing people with a loud voice, barking orders to everyone in sight. Carts were being moved, horses were being washed, hefty bags of flour were being offloaded by a long line of men in dusty clothes.

The castle was busier than it had been all year thanks to the grand feast. But everyone knew it was all pretence. The king wanted a peace treaty with the North and he was willing to woo them to get it. However proud he might be, his paranoia took precedence, keeping all within arm's length, lest they think to make plans behind his back. It's why he wanted to tie himself to his neighbours as tightly as he could. Any harm to him would be harm to them and woe betide any who stood against them.

Derriq sighed and scratched at the nick on his neck. Soon enough he would have to return, relegated to hovering outside her rooms, waiting until duty and temperament forced her outside. He clenched his hand to a fist, remembering the comments she'd made, words meant to hurt and drive him off. It was difficult to believe she'd meant it but the look in her eyes and the conviction in her voice said otherwise. She'd wanted it to stick.

Wiping a hand over his face as if to brush away the fatigue he took a deep breath and turned to go back to the fray and to her. Steeling himself he walked inside, making sure to slot the bolt home before descending. It wouldn't due to leave any chance for treachery. Too much was at stake.

Walking down towards the Great Hall he nodded to the two guards at either side of the door and stuck his head in. The tapestries had been hung days ago but it was only now that the tables were being 'dressed' with linens freshly pressed from the laundry. Stark grey as was fitting the Argent line sewn inside bands of red that most joked represented enemy blood rather than the royal distinction they claimed.

A fire was being stoked in the central hearth by several char boys. Though the firebox taller than any of them, they stooped under the weight of the logs they were hefting, hands rough and calloused from long days and even longer nights working away in the bowels of the castle.

He was enjoying the sights and sounds until he noticed Chamberlain Harys walking his way, a permanent frown affixed to his face.

"We are in the midst of preparations for tonight. Unless you have a message to deliver I ask that you leave us to our work." He shooed Derriq with a flick of his hand, looking down his nose at the guard.

The man's lack of courtesy was annoying but at least consistent. You always knew what to expect from him. The same couldn't be said of others. As Derriq walked towards the Family Quarters he passed by several sets of guards, noting their increased presence ahead of the feast. They in return only nodded to him, aware of his position though few envied his responsibilities. It was difficult enough to keep the king appeased but his granddaughter? She was a handful, to be sure.

Sequestered in the most central part of the castle, behind several thick wooden doors and scores of guards, he made his way into the private living quarters of His Grace and his family. Austere and functional, not even tapestries or portraits had been permitted. All was oppressive cold stone. Frowning as he marched down the corridor, he hated walking these halls.

Finally arriving outside her chambers he leaned against the wall opposite, waiting. Iordan and Sberno were on guard as usual and heavily armed.

"Are you in trouble again?" Sberno raised a brow, noting that Derriq was outside rather than inside.

Derriq shrugged. "She's fickle. One moment I'm needed, the next I'm not."

The two men smirked, knowing the truth of the matter. The fact that he was here now, waiting for her, was proof of his words. While they waited, the three traded stories of adventures prior to their service at the castle, boasting about fight fought and scare received but as the hour grew later Derriq's frustration grew. His eyes flicked to the door every so often, fingers tapping on his belt.

Finally one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting approached. She smiled tightly at the men and smartly rapped on the door. A murmur of voices was heard as she was quietly admitted. Derriq sighed, shifting in his armour, wondering what was going to be served at the feast.

At last the door finally opened and out stepped Alysen, followed by her ladies-in-waiting. She was clothed in dark red trimmed with gray, a dress that displayed her assets quite prominently, her long hair bound up above her neck. Derriq swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he took in her appearance. In some ways he hated her in court dress as it always drove him to distraction. She appeared resigned until she noticed him.

"Do I need to have you dragged to the gaol? I told you to keep out of my sight!" As imperious as her grandmother at times, Alysen glared at him.

"I fully intend to stay out of your way Your Grace. I merely wanted to wish you well before the feast."

She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes before curtly nodding and sweeping past him down the hallway. Followed quickly by her ladies-in-waiting who offered him apologetic smiles, they left for the Throne Room.

Derriq trailed behind after bidding goodbye to his friends. Tonight was **not** going to be enjoyable, of that much he was sure. He doubled his pace, watching as servants skittered out of the way, bowing as she passed.

The group assembled before the large doors as they were announced. Walking inside they were met with a cacophony of voices. Though the hall was filled with torchlight, the crowd of bodies made it difficult to discern who had arrived. Derriq eyed the groups, noting the nobles in attendance. All were dressed in heavy clothing thanks to the extended winter they'd just suffered through. The Adairs were huddled up against a wall, their heir noticeably absent; the Cantrells and their large family watching and waiting as always; the Endicotts purposely snubbing the Northrops; the Hadens with their hands permanently resting on their swords; the Penders and Rennells in deep discussion; the Varleys steering clear of the Tathams and their brutish lot. Everyone it appeared had been invited though no one appeared pleased at being summoned.

As he passed through the crowd he was confronted by the strong smell of sweat and horse dung. Some had ridden far and hard to get here tonight, more likely in order to be witnessed rather than out of any actual concern. At least, those were the rumours he'd heard in the yards. What little contact he'd had with the families was relegated to small talk overheard while standing next to the princess. Their petty niceties hid their true nature, none of which would likely be on display tonight. No, tonight court intrigue would play its part and Derriq would hate every minute of it. He moved to stand against the wall with a line of sight to Her Grace.

A group of foreigners crowded close about the throne and appeared to be in deep conversation with the king. Alysen walked over to them, curtseying as she was introduced to the Northerners. Her ladies-in-waiting blushed as they moved from man to man, fascinating by the strangers' dress and manner of speech. They watched their princess as she greeted everyone with a smile. There was only one she hesitated in front of when he took hold of her hand. Derriq leaned forward to see it was Lord Matthias who leaned down to kiss her hand. Her face settled into a blank state as his lips brushed her skin.

There was little wonder at her reaction though. She loathed the man. Derriq wasn't exactly sure why but the last time they'd met him her reaction had been the same. It hadn't been his place to ask or speculate so he'd simply observed. Noticing the man was still holding onto her Derriq sidled closer, trying to listen in on their conversation while remaining out of sight as ordered.

"As lovely as ever Your Grace. I'm glad to find you looking so…healthy." There was a hungry look in his eye as he glanced very obviously down her body.

"How good to see you again Lord Matthias," she bit out her reply, waiting for him to let go of her. "I understand you've come here as an ambassador?"

He smiled, though the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. "The Blackwoods required my attendance and I agreed. I also couldn't deny myself the pleasure of seeing you again." His grip tightened around her hand as his thumb started stroking her skin. "My how you've grown. Tell me, has your grandfather made a match for you yet?"

Alysen tugged out of his grasp, smirking at his implication. On this she had no reason to worry. "He's allowed me my choice of betrothed."

Matthias chuckled condescendingly. "How foolish of him," he murmured. "As if a woman could be trusted with someone so important." He noticed her frown and shrugged. "I have no doubt of your capabilities Your Grace but there are some things that really should be left to men."

"On that my lord, we disagree." Her hand twitched as she resisted clenching it into a fist.

"Perhaps one day your mind will change."

She raised a brow at the suggestion. "I don't believe that day shall ever come."

He took hold of her elbow and leaned in, eyes looking down at her mouth. "I will gladly wait until it does."

Derriq had heard enough. He shoved off the wall to interrupt Lord Matthias' wandering hands and leering eyes but before he could reach them a trio of Clarions sounded, their fanfare announcing the commencement of the feast.

Matthias tried to tuck Alysen's arm inside his own. "May I escort you inside Your Grace?"

Instead she pulled free and backed away, frowning. "My grandfather has that honour. Please excuse me." She curtseyed as little as was acceptable and walked towards the throne, greeting her grandfather with a genuine smile. Lord Matthias couldn't help but be jealous as he watched her face light up. He noticed her easy manner and how much warmer she appeared to be with others than with him. This morning he had been looking forward to seeing her again, to impress upon her the importance of his position at these talks. But now it appeared he was going to have to press a little harder to gain her attention.

The king held up his hands and the chatter of the room melted away, his gruff face lined with years of war and worry, his dark eyes dancing over the crowd with a predatory gaze.

"I welcome you all to Hardholme. As my good wife has unfortunately taken ill my granddaughter Alysen will be taking her place for this evening. And now, let us feast!" Alysen turned and bowed to him and he held out his arm. The two walked towards the Grand Hall, nobles bowing before them.

Slowly the crowd followed, jostling each other as families fought over who would be first to follow the king. It almost came to blows between the Hadens and Tathams before the guards had to step in, threatening anyone brandishing steel with expulsion.

Trailing the stragglers Derriq knew there was little point in trying to fight his way to the front. She was never safer than when she was beside the king. His presence ensured his First Sword and Shield were also watching over her, providing peace of mind.

He also kept back from experience. The press of crowds concealed too much and risked all: cutpurses, assassins, secrets. They left your back exposed and offered too many chances to those who would do you ill. So instead he strolled along, knowing there'd be a seat for him in the back somewhere.

As he approached the hall he heard the first strains of music, likely the entertainment for the night. It was a lively tune, possibly to help digest the meal which would be extravagant at the least. He walked inside just as the king escorted Alysen to her seat. Settling into his own intricately carved chair he signaled to the crowd which dutifully sat with his permission.

Derriq had always liked the hall and its large wooden beams and wide roof. It had a heft to it and strong walls. A big hearth and heavy glass windows set high into the walls. His favourite part though was the tapestries, woven with the history of the Argent line. Walking from one side of the hall to the other a person could cover over three hundred years of blood and fire and war. He'd often spent time looking over them during feasts such as this one. In fact it was likely that he could regurgitate the entire family's history from memory if asked.

It was then he took his seat, finding a spot next to Sir Jan. They usually sat together when they could. The older man normally kept to himself and didn't get involve in court intrigues which Derriq appreciated. Instead most of his time was spent in the training yards, practicing. They usually commiserated over all the nonsense that took place within the castle walls. It was good to have someone to share with in the madness.

As they grabbed tankards of weak beer the food started arriving, all carried by servants with strong arms. Trays and trays of meat passed by, all decorated in various manners: some with flowers, some with brightly coloured fruits, some basted in herbs and spices. From his many fancy meals and thanks for Her Grace's scolding he now recognized the majority of the dishes served: poussin farci; rabbit in broth; pigeons stuffed with apples and prunes; boar's head with flowers. From first-hand experience he knew all were equally tasty and filling. He watched as the trays were set at the head table before servants started to come around, portioning out the meat. A slab of boar was dumped on his trencher and he watched as the blood soak into the bread.

Pulling out a knife he tucked into his meal. Juice ran down his chin as he dug into his meat, occasionally glancing over to the princess at the head table. The only man standing by her tonight was the one who tested her food. Normally Derriq would have been there as well, eyes watching over all, ensuring her protection. Normally he would have gone hungry during the feast but the cooks liked him well enough to feed him kitchen scraps whenever he liked so he was rarely starving. She, on the other hand, was far more reserved when it came to eating.

For the most part the king ignored her, choosing instead to speak to the ambassador on his right but she didn't appear to want for attention. One of the visiting Duke's had been seated next to her and he hadn't stopped speaking since they'd sat down. Curious as to where Lord Matthias had ended up, Derriq looked around. The man had been put with the rest of his party at one of the lower tables and was practically sulking. Derriq couldn't help but grin. It served him right, speaking the way he did. The guard turned back to his meal, shoving another cut of meat in his mouth.

.oOo.

The hall was filled with music and laughter as everyone partook in food and drink, getting progressively fuller and drunker. After consuming a healthy share of the feast, the doors opened again and in came the centrepiece. Two burly men carried a large tray between them. On it was a large swan dressed for battle with lance and shield, mounted atop a suckling pig. The crowd clapped, marvelling at the masterpiece dressed in the king's colours. As the servants approached the head table they struggled to heft its weight, setting it down with a jolt before bowing and departing. It was then that the king stood, holding his cup aloft, a gesture echoed by everyone in the room.

"To our Northern neighbours. May your stay here be fruitful."

Everyone drank deep including Alysen. Unfortunately she made the mistake of looking over at Lord Matthias. He too raised his glass but in her direction and as he drank he stared, never breaking his gaze. Feasts were usually boring enough without worrying about lecherous men looking at or talking to her. Usually they just wanted to garner favour with the king but now she wasn't so sure. She quickly turned away, back to the Duke who had been trying so very hard to appear interesting. The rest of her meal was spent smiling and nodding, desperately trying to remember the man's name and failing entirely.

Not soon enough her grandfather announced a return to the Throne Room for the express purpose of dancing. She practically leapt from her chair as the procession returned from where they'd started. Despite the heavy meal they'd been served, she was happy to accept every offer that came her way as she loved dancing. But after several quadrilles she found herself quite winded and moved to stand in a small alcove to catch her breath. When she moved to leave she found herself boxed in by Lord Matthias.

"Hello again Your Grace." His words were slurred and his cheeks flushed, betraying the extent to which he'd imbibed.

"Lord Matthias," she nodded. "I didn't see you partake in any of the dancing."

He shook his head. "I take no pleasure in such things. My feet never seem to agree on which way to move. My skills lie in other areas," he smirked.

She was secretly pleased that he couldn't dance and completely ignored the implication he'd made. Instead she smiled brightly and put on her court voice. "If you'll excuse me, I promised Lord Pender a dance."

He didn't move. "You look beautiful tonight."

She sighed. "I believe you've already mentioned your appreciation my lord."

"Yes but I don't think I've been able to properly express how I feel." Lord Matthias crowded close.

"You've expressed all I wish to hear. Now please, let me pass."

"Not until you hear what I have to say. Then I will gladly let you depart."

But all Alysen wanted to do was roll her eyes. Instead she motioned for him to continue. It couldn't hurt to listen as the sooner he finished the sooner she could leave his presence.

"As much as my loyalties lie with the North I do worry about you," he stepped closer. "After that business with your father-" He watched as she did her best not to flinch. It was still a sore subject all these years later. "Well, you can see why anyone who cared for you would worry."

 _Cared for you_? Alysen looked up at Matthias in alarm. What exactly was he saying to her?

"Tell me, have you enjoyed yourself so far?" He tilted his head, brow raised.

Was this what he meant by 'expressing how he felt'? Did he mean to monopolize her time until she retired for the night? At this point she had no interest in extending the diplomatic tone she usually used for those she considered unsavoury. "Apart from the dancing, no my lord I haven't."

"I'm sorry that only this last aspect held any joy for you. I must confess that I've found a great deal enjoyable tonight." He smirked, staring straight down the front of her dress before reaching up to caress her arm.

She couldn't move. Normally she would have fought the urge to cover herself but now she remained motionless, her body suddenly cold.

While she was dealing with Lord Matthias' crude behaviour, Derriq had been watching them through the screen of dancing couples, growing angrier by the minute. Lord Matthias kept stepping closer and despite how Her Grace had yelled at him earlier, Derriq badly wanted to go over there and stare the lord down. He would have preferred to lay hands on him and throw him out the door but that would likely cause problems for Alysen and the peace talks.

When Matthias reached out to touch her Derriq pushed off from the wall. He was about to shove through the crowd before a hand gripped him tightly about the arm. He looked to see Sir Jan holding on to him, a stern look on his face. He was honourable if a bit old-fashioned. Now though, he was interfering and Derriq didn't like it.

"Leave it alone lad. She won't thank you for interrupting."

Derriq looked over, eyes skimming across her person. Tense shoulders, clenched hands, forced smile and Lord Matthias leaning over her like a fallen tree. He wrenched from Jan's grip, his hand coming to rest on his sword, the metal cold to the touch.

"I don't care if it upsets her."

Jan chuckled grimly. "You'll care when she removes you from her service or worse, posts you with the City Guard," the man muttered.

"That will never happen," Derriq grit his teeth, practically growling at the man. He couldn't believe that she'd rid herself of him after everything. No matter that she was currently angry with him. His mind made up he started to push through the crowd, not caring whether he disrupted the dancing or not.

Alysen was still trying to recover from Lord Matthias daring to touch her. He was still slowly stroking her arm as he leaned in. He was so close she could feel his hot breath on her neck and smell the beer he'd consumed at supper. It took all her willpower to remain motionless as he crowded her against the wall. Over his shoulder she could see Derriq walking towards her, hand clenched on his sword, murderous look in his eye. She met his gaze and gave a slight shake of her head. If possible he looked even angrier before moving to the closest wall and staring daggers at Lord Matthias.

She could handle one drunken lord. Besides, she had been warned that nothing must interfere with the treaty and causing a scene with one of the ambassadors definitely would. A fact that she was sure Lord Matthias was well aware of as he continued his inappropriate advances towards her.

"Surely there's some man that has caught your fancy, one that you could imagine yourself marrying." He reached up to twirl a stray piece of her hair.

"No my lord. There is no such man."

He slowly smiled. "Of course. You've not yet found anyone worthy of you." He looked her in the eye, barely a hairsbreadth away. "I intend to be that man Your Grace."

Alysen was confused and horrified. "My Lord?

"I knew it the first time I saw you all those years ago. You were perfect. And out of all I'd seen and done I had one wish that only you could fulfill."

"What did you wish my lord?" Her voice trembled, whether in anger or in fear she wasn't sure.

"I would have you to wife, in my bed, bearing my children Your Grace."

"H-how dare you!" Never in her life had she been spoken to in so revolting a manner. The fact that he felt free to voice such feelings made her feel sick.

"Oh I dare," he stepped towards her, laying gloved palms to either side of her shoulders, trapping her against the wall. "I think no man has ever declared exactly what he wants from you. You're far too proper and well-guarded to let anyone near. And yet this evening you left yourself practically bare to me. I saw it as a sign and decided to let my feelings be known."

Trying to remember to breathe, her voice wavered as she spoke. "Your words and your…actions are unwelcome my lord. I would thank you to leave me be."

Lord Matthias clenched his hands into fists, a dark look passing over his face. He leaned in and Alysen, afraid that he was trying to take advantage, turned away, her cheek to the wall, the stone cold against her skin. Rejected in more ways than one, Matthias whispered into her ear.

"I would not reject so favourable a suit before considering what you are giving up Your Grace." He drew out her title, savouring it on his tongue like a sweet. "I have wealth, a title and the ability to **ruin** everything your grandfather has planned," he snarled.

Her breath caught in her throat. Was he threatening the treaty talks? She knew he was favoured by the North but he was rarely seen here at court. How could he possibly affect the outcome of something that had been planned for months by men more powerful than him? Her concern over the matter though was ash next to the rage she felt over his confession and unwelcome desire for her.

"My Lord were you the last man in the kingdom I would not sully myself by ever accepting such a proposal!" She hissed at him. How dare he make such vile presumptions!

He glared at her. "It may be that one day you will have no choice in the matter."

"I'd rather die."

He grabbed her shoulders, fingers digging hard into her skin, grinning as she gasped in pain.

"It would be best if you simply accepted. Think on what I've said and consider how well you want these talks to go."

With that he glared and gave her a hard shove. She fell back against the wall, smacking into the stone. A ball of pain burst on the back of her head as she grunted and for a moment her vision swam. She struggled to stay on her feet, absently noting Lord Matthias stalk off.

Derriq had seen the entire encounter and raced over to her. Alysen's eyes were closed and she was slumped against the wall.

"Your Grace?"

"Don't let them see," she whispered shrinking against the wall, trying to shut out the torchlight, her head beating like a drum.

"What!" The man had laid hands on her and she wanted to keep quiet about it? Even now he was torn between chasing after the lord and demanding satisfaction and staying to ensure her safe recovery.

Normally he was nothing if not completely aware of the division between the two of them. But now, seeing her in pain struggling to remain conscious and ordering him to keep it to himself, he ignored everything he'd been taught and carefully wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

"Your pardon Your Grace. I'll take you back to your rooms."

She moaned slightly before allowing herself to be led out of the room and ignored the glances of the guards as they left. She leaned into him as they walked down the hall, almost stumbling. He could feel her growing listless as her steps slowed.

A maid shuffled past, carrying an armful of linens. She glanced first at Alysen and then at him, confusion writ large on her face. He ignored her. Rumours would spread regardless of what he did. He only hoped no one would think less of the princess. She had enough to deal with when it came to life at court.

"Derriq," she whispered into his shoulder.

He jerked to a stop, eyes widening as her arms flopping against her body. She'd never been so informal with him before. He couldn't deny that he liked the lack of title. She was always so proper with everyone, hiding behind the mask that court demanded. But it was difficult to fathom that she would drop formalities now, especially in light of such an important evening.

He looked down at her, eyes closed and in pain. That's when he noticed the blood on his chainmail. She was bleeding? Holding down the panic in his chest he reached up into what had been an elaborate hairstyle, feeling around for injuries. Alysen winced as he probed around as gently as he could. He shuddered as his gauntlet came away red. Is this what she had been concealing? Lord Matthias had assaulted her and she wasn't interested in making a fuss? He grit his teeth at her foolishness. How could she be so stupid?

His first instinct was to take her to the healer but the man was back in the Throne Room, likely still trading stories with the apothecary from the North. Alysen hadn't been wrong when she'd said the treaty talks were a delicate matter. If he went back there with only his word on what had happened and accused one of their guests, it wouldn't end well.

Cursing a blue streak under his breath Derriq lifted her into his arms. She whimpered at the sudden jolt to her head, lolling against his chest. He whispered apologies in her ear as he tried to hurry towards her room. At least there she could lie down and get away from the noise and heat of the crowd.

So far no one had noticed the blood and that was perhaps the only good thing about the situation. Granted this would be the first time he'd carried her back to her rooms but he hoped that the feast would provide enough excuse. She wasn't known for imbibing but when it came to large events everyone was granted some leeway.

But as he passed several more servants he realized his hopes were not to be. First they noticed the state of Her Grace, seemingly drunk and passed out. Then they saw his arms wrapped inappropriately around her with no chaperone in sight. This earned several glares which only spurred him to get them out of the halls as soon as possible. Leaving the feast was perhaps not the best plan.

Sighing in frustration, he tried to ignore the strange looks. He'd fought hard to keep clear of scandal at court despite Lady FitzRoy's best efforts to drag him down with her. Now it appeared to be all for nothing. It was likely that the entire castle would know by the end of the night. And that was nothing compared to what would happen if the Northerners found out. The king was another matter entirely. Derriq closed his eyes and tried not to think of the possibility. His Grace was **not** a kind man, more apt to anger than anything else. He'd seen spit fly when he struck a Duke with his bare hand in court. Losing several teeth the man had bowed and tried to apologize through a mangled mouth.

They finally reached her room and thankfully neither Iordan or Sberno said a thing. They merely opened the door for him and he slipped inside. Quickly moving to the bed, he gently set her down, grimacing as he jostled her but there was no reaction.

Ignoring the bloodstain growing on her pillow, he quickly pulled his gauntlets off, dropping them to the floor. He was no healer but he knew it wasn't good to sleep after such a blow. She didn't respond to his voice though and a shake to her shoulders didn't bring her around. Taking a deep breath he moved his hand down to her waist and laid a hand on the fabric before giving her a slight pinch. She groaned in response and slowly opened her eyes.

"What…? Where?"

"You were injured. By Lord Matthias."

"Injured?" That's when she felt something on her neck. Reaching back her hand came away slick. Staring down at the red she was confused.

 _Blood._

Her eyes widened and she felt her heart beating in her brain. She'd overheard horror stories of men with their heads splayed open and once had to be escorted from a tourney when an injury to a knight had been deemed to gruesome for her sight. Later she'd bribed one of the kitchen staff and learned that when they'd removed his helm, half his head had fallen out. Nausea crept up the back of her throat and her chest felt like it was being squeezed between two hands.

"I…I can't breathe," she choked out, gulping in short shallow gasps.

Derriq could only stare for a moment as she fought to draw breath. For all his training he had no idea how to help her.

She sat up, hand to her chest and he was torn between averting his eyes and getting her to lie back down.

"I have to get it off!"

His eyes widened and he backed up several steps, wondering if she'd taken leave of her senses. She wanted to remove her dress?

"Your Grace?"

Alysen shoved her legs off the bed and struggled to stand, reaching behind to the ties at the back of her dress. Derriq grabbed her elbows to steady her, skin soft under his calloused fingers.

She turned, trying to put her back to him as she fell into his arms, stumbling, painting his jaw with blood.

"It's too tight and I can't…" she wheezed.

He had no knowledge of the complex fasteners on these Southern dresses but he understood what she wanted. His fingers went to the nearest tie but try as he might he couldn't quite get his digits around the knots. It didn't help that the fabric was soaked with blood, coating his hands and making the ties slippery. He felt helpless, trying to think as her breathing grew more distressed. Cursing in exasperation he ripped out his dagger and put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Hold very still Your Grace."

He deftly slit each tie, traveling down her back as quickly as he could. Upon reaching the last one he pulled the stiff fabric away from her back, opening the dress like a flayed fish. She inhaled several guttural breaths, finally able to breathe again.

But before she could turn to thank him the door burst open and both Alysen and Derriq froze, eyes wide as numerous guards stormed in and behind them, the king. The intruders at the door saw Her Grace, hands covered in blood, her dress ripped up the back, her bodyguard bloodied, with one hand on her bodice and the other on a blade.

Realizing in an instant what it must look like, Derriq dropped the dagger and backed away. He was immediately set upon and unceremoniously shoved to the floor. Rough hands pulled his arms behind him, pressing his face into the carpet now spotted with blood.

"Stop!" Alysen yelled, holding up the front of her dress as Derriq was hauled up and dragged out of the room.


End file.
